Love Is Insane
by mywholelie
Summary: Blaine Anderson makes a snap decision to take his life into his own hands and learns that sometimes it takes being on the brink of death, to really start living.  Based loosely on It's Kind Of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini. Trigger warning - Suicide talk.
1. Chapter 1

"It started with a dream, a recurring dream...though I suppose it wouldn't really be as horrible if I didn't have it every night. I-"

"Are you on medication?"

The voice through the phone is harsh and uncaring and I wonder for a moment if she's bored with my story before I've even started it. Why become a suicide hotline operator if you don't want to listen?

I answer her anyway. "I was..Celexa. But I stopped taking it."

"Why?"

"I was feeling better.." It seems like a lame excuse now but it's the only one I've got.

"And now you're not?" It's not really a question the way she says it, more of an accusation. I know I'm not supposed to stop taking the medicine on my own but for a while there I really did think I had it under control.

"Well, I was kind of talking about that..with my dream...?"

"Right, the recurring one?"

"Yeah. It's, well...I wake up in a hospital bed and before I even open my eyes all the way, I can feel anger growing inside me...I look to my left and I see my mother, she's got this look of pity on her face; like I didn't turn out how she wanted and she can't decide if she's more unhappy for herself or for me. I can tell that she doesn't know I'm awake yet so I look down and I notice gauze around my wrists...I-I had tried to kill myself.

"And the thing is, that I'm not surprised. I knew it, even in my dream, I knew why I was in the hospital and it's not even shocking to see that I failed. It's just another failure in a long line of failures...I'm about to speak for the first time, I even open my mouth but nothing comes out before my dad comes running in and starts yelling at me about how he's missing work for this and how I'll never get into a good school with this on my record and how do I think scars will look in job interviews...it goes on like this for a while and then he just stops and stares directly at me and says 'You're so useless, you can't even kill yourself properly' and then he walks out. My mother follows after him, shaking her head at me, and looking more full of pity than I've ever seen her before...I stare at the door for a few minutes before I start screaming, loud and nonstop. I scream until my throat is sore and my lungs ache...and no matter how hard I scream, no one ever comes in to make me stop..."

I pause for a moment after I finish my retelling. My hands and forehead are dripping with sweat, my bangs now sticking noticeably to my face, my legs are shaking and weak, my knees feel almost like they want to give out underneath me and my heart is pounding-pounding like I just ran a marathon. I've never told anyone my dream before and it feels almost wrong to divulge it now, even to a stranger who doesn't know my name.

"Is that all?" For all that I've said and the way my body has responded, I expected more than a slightly annoyed sounding response.

I sputter, embarrassingly, and wipe a hand down my face, taking a deep breath before responding. "Well I usually wake up screaming, or shaking or sometimes I barely make it to the toilet in time before I vomit, but yeah, that's all."

"And how do you feel now?" She says it in the same professional voice, faking interest and reading the leading questions off of a cue card. For some reason, I fall for it.

"Well, I-" Some days are okay, once I've taken a shower I'm able to shake the dream away enough to go to class and to function, I can always feel it nagging away in the back of my mind but it doesn't have an outward effect on how I seem...but that's only on some days.

"I feel scared." I answer truthfully, admitting it to myself for the first time as well as the operator. "Like one of these days I'm going to wake up and it won't be a dream, I'll actually be in the hospital. Or maybe...maybe I won't wake up at all."

"Craig?"

I'm silent for a moment, assuming the lady is talking to someone else before I realize that Craig is the fake name I gave her. "Oh, um, yes?"

"Craig, I think you should go to the hospital."

I pause, partly from the sound of the voice, now interested, maybe even worried and I look at the clock. "It's two in the morning."

"The emergency room is always open."

For some reason the thought of visiting a hospital still seems a bit extreme, maybe even an inconvenience to everyone there. I'm silent again, trying in vain to come up with a reason why she would want me to admit myself, and finding none. "Am I having an emergency?"

"Wanting to take your own life is always an emergency." She says it slowly, delicately and I can tell that she's trying not to freak me out, to set me off. In reality, it sort of does.

I'd never really considered myself suicidal before and it's odd to have someone else point it out to you. I suppose, deep down, I knew it was the truth but it's not like I actually tried anything. Then again, I wouldn't have called a suicide hotline at two in the morning if I hadn't thought it was a possibility. I just never considered myself to be an at risk case.

In all honesty, I don't have much reason to be; I have parents that love me, in their own way, I have friends, I go to an amazing high school, that costs more than most of the community colleges over here, and yet I feel so...empty. There have been expectations for my life since before I was born, things I never had a say in-where I would go to school, the people I would hang out with, what my eventual career would be. All of it builds up until my entire existence seems to be for someone else instead of myself. There's no point to living when your sole purpose in life is to please others, only to find they can never be pleased. The demands never met, the responsibilities never achieved, its honestly a wonder that I don't spend every day buried under my covers.

"Craig. Craig are you still with me?"

I jump slightly, my hand tightening around a phone I forgot I was holding and clear my throat. "Er-yeah."

"Good." I notice that she doesn't sound quite so bored anymore, but actually nervous. It's frightening to know I'm making her nervous. "Do you need me to call you an ambulance?"

"No!" I answer too quickly, my heart pounding again as I move my eyes over my parents door. I can only imagine what they would say if sirens woke them up at this hour. I try to laugh it off but it sounds odd even in my own ears. "No..that's alright."

My heart doesn't really calm down until I hear her word that she won't call an ambulance. Images flash in my head of the paramedics, fire department and ambulances all coming to my aid while some poor old man is dying of a heart attack or a child is lost and hurt in the street. It's definitely not worth it to take the help away from them. "There's a hospital down the street, I can walk there."

"Good, Craig, I want you to do that. There is no shame in asking for help."

"Okay. Thanks."

"You're welcome, Craig. Thank you for calling. You're very brave." It's almost like I'm talking to a different woman entirely. Gone is the bored, uninterested person I had before and in her place is one of comfort and caring. There's an almost tentative quality to her tone, like she really does hope I do as I say I will.

I thank her one more time before I hang up the phone, my mind still racing. I look towards the clock again and think about where I would normally be right now. Lights out in the dorm would have been hours again but more than likely I'd still be awake, listening to Jeff snoring next to me as I studied by flashlight for my midterms. Classes that seemed so easy for everyone else were always a problem for me. Though, that could have been because I spent more time depressed in bed, or puking in the bathroom, than I did listening to lectures.

At first everyone ignored it, said I was having trouble with the semester, hit the junior year slump, it happened to everyone. After a while though they stopped inviting me out and Jeff would cast worried looks in my direction whenever he left our dorm room. The Dean eventually got involved because I missed too much class and I'm almost certain Jeff had a talk with him because instead of suspension I was just sent home. Marked down with "homesickness" and given a long weekend vacation.

My dad had been furious, spent my first day back yelling at me. He told me I needed to get my act together if I wanted to get into a good college, if I wanted to live up to the plan. Ivy Leagues aren't looking for kids who had holes in their attendance record, they want dedication and perseverance. It took a whole day of lecturing, before he went back to work, deeming me a lost cause or just trying to forget about it all together. He stayed out much later than normal and before the front door even shut behind him, he'd be in his office or in his bedroom, not so much as a glance in my direction.

It wasn't really surprising, or all that upsetting. The amount of time my father spent with me was directly congruent with how well I was living up to his expectations. When I got bad marks on my report card in fourth grade, he stopped talking to me for a week, the same happened again when I failed math in middle school and when I had to transfer schools in the middle of freshman year, I thought he was going to disown me all together. The only thing that saved me was that I got into a private high school, it was prestigious and only for special cases or the brightest students out there. Regardless of the unfortunate circumstance of my transfer, my dad was proud, at least for a little while.

Most of the time it was harder to be around my mother. She would sit with me while I watched tv and tried to cook me my favorite meals, at least, until I ended up regurgitating half of a grilled cheese sandwich onto the dinner table. It's not her fault I turned out the way I did and I can see it in her eyes that she feels bad for me. There's a sadness there that I can't quite place, it's been there for as long as I've known her but it's only just gotten worse. She's always been a good mother though, a nurturing one and even if I don't talk to her much, I can feel that she loves me. I just hate to see that look in her eyes, to know I put that disappointment there. It's gotten to the point that when she glances my way, I turn in the other direction.

I grab a light jacket and put a short note up on the refrigerator before leaving. It's probably not completely necessary, by the time they realize I'm gone I'll probably be home. I'd just hate for them to wake up and think I went back to school, only to have their hopes crushed when they call after me and discover I'm not there.

The walk to the hospital is short but I still feel out of breath when I arrive. I've only been to the emergency room once before but it looks exactly the same as I step inside. I shield my eyes for a moment against the blinding artificial lighting. It's like time doesn't exist in this place, for all they know it could be three in the afternoon instead of three in the morning. The sickly sweet smell of stale cleanliness burns in my nostrils and my stomach flips ominously, just to be safe I look around to find the nearest bathroom, then slowly make my way up to the front desk.

"Um, I-I think I want to kill myself."

The receptionist turns and takes her time looking me over. I'm not sure what I was expecting. A siren to go off, a squad of doctors to come out and grab me, maybe even a sympathetic glance or two but instead I get a short nod and a clipboard shoved into my hands.

I suppose even the suicidal need to fill out paperwork.

Its the standard admittance papers I've dealt with a million times before but for some reason this seems much bigger. Each line I fill in is another line towards taking a step off the path of my life. I try to imagine what my father would say if he was here right now but I come up short, he wouldn't be here right now because if he were involved, I wouldn't be here right now. Even after I finish filling it out, I hesitate with turning it in. It's the right decision, I know that much to be true, I'm just not sure if it's the right decision for me. In the end, it's only after I read over my reason for visiting that I decide to hand it over. Accepting within myself that I need help won't do any good if I don't end up asking for it.

After she takes the clipboard back I'm told to wait in one of the chairs for a doctor to come get me. I nod and make my way over, stopping for just a moment before sitting in a chair that seems all too familiar. A wave of nausea hits me again, this time not from anxiety but from remembering things I've tried so hard to forget; the taste of blood on my tongue, the sound of fists hitting flesh, the harsh tone of the insults and slurs reaching my ears. The best medicine in the world wouldn't be able to erase that from my memory.

A nurse calls my name and I jump slightly before getting up to follow her down a hall. She asks me what's wrong and I tell her the same thing I told the hotline, I'm suicidal, I was on medicine but stopped taking it, I can't sleep, can't eat and keep having the same horrible dream. I'm scared I may do something drastic if it doesn't stop. It's easier to say the second time but I still stumble over the words.

The nurse is nothing but professional as she listens to my story. Nodding when appropriate and asking questions when she feels necessary, it doesn't feel too much like an interrogation but it's not exactly a casual chat either. She doesn't offer any comfort or give any signs that she is overly invested in my story, just takes my blood pressure, my temperature and then informs me a doctor will be in shortly.

She lied.

Three more people come in to talk to me before I even see a doctor. They place a guard outside my door to watch over me and I have to tell my story so many times that it starts to sound like it's about someone else. I'm no longer stumbling over the words but rushing through them, getting them out quickly in the hopes that I'll get a solution that much faster. By the time the Dr Figgins comes in, I'm tired and frankly, feeling a little annoyed.

"I think you should start taking your medicine again, if not the Celexa then we can start you on something else. It's not safe to come off these things on your own." He says after I tell him about my dream and my reason for being there.

I want to laugh, but more than that I want to cry. If that's the best they can do for me I may as well have stayed home. "That's it? That's all you're doing?"

"What else would you like me to do?" He doesn't even look up from the prescription pad he is writing on as he speaks to me. There is something lazy in his tone that makes me instantly think of the hotline operator.

I know it's stupid but I can feel tears burning my eyes. For a moment I had been really hopeful. I thought I would actually be helped here. I thought people would care, would want to see me happy. I thought it'd be different. I'm sick of being looked over, of having my problems pushed aside and reacted to like they don't matter. Even when I ask for help no one seems to listen.

"I don't know." I answer weakly, because I don't. Maybe I'm a helpless case. "I'm scared, all the time...scared that I can't trust myself not to do something terrible...I see all these people around me, at school, at home, at the store. They all deal with so much...work, family, friends, their own personal problems and somehow they keep from screaming or breaking down and I just...I can't do it. I wear a smile on my face every day at school and it's all so fake. I feel like I'm tearing apart at the seams and NO ONE notices...I don't know what to do...just-please...please help me."

A tear or two have escaped in the time it took me to say all that and I wipe at my face, staring at my feet and shifting restlessly in front of him. I feel small and weak. If I were closer with my mother I feel like this would be one of those times I would turn to her, wrap myself up in her arms to try to feel safe again. As it were, I have only myself for comfort so I wrap my arms around my own chest, sniffling weakly and waiting for the decision to be made.

Doctor Figgins takes one more look at me, and doesn't even hesitate before he writes down a note on his clipboard. Just like that I'm admitted to the hospital's Behavior Health Unit.

After that, they move a lot faster. The guard escorts me and a nurse over to another wing where they take me into a room and have me strip down, asking if I have any razors or sharp objects on me. Then they let me redress, take my phone, my shoelaces and my wallet and tell me that they will give the items to my parents when they come to bring me more clothes.

For some reason it's not until they mention my parents that I start freaking out. I pace back and forth, my hands shaky and tense at my sides. I didn't think about the fact that my parents would have to be told. The nurse assures me that they'll understand, that it will be okay, but she clearly doesn't know them they way I do.

I think about my stupid note and about how I thought I'd be home before breakfast. My mom will be upset, I hope she doesn't cry. I've never seen her cry before and the thought that I'd be the cause of it makes my chest feel heavy. More than anything I feel bad that she'll have to take whatever it is my dad dishes out. Without me there to yell at, he'll have to yell at her, complain about how their son is a failure, how he's ruining his life and all of theirs in the process. My mind is moving quickly, jumping from one idea to the next, trying to come up with anything to get me out of here.

Doctor Figgins comes back, his expression a little surprised, clearly not understanding what happened from the time I left his exam room to right now. I explain to him that there's been a mistake. That I changed my mind and want to go home. The moment of depression has passed, and every thing's fine now.

I can tell he doesn't believe me and before he even reacts my heart drops down into my stomach. He gives me a small smile and puts a hand on my shoulder, for as hard as I had to fight to get him to help me, he sure seems adamant on me staying. "Listen, I think this will be good for you. Just stay for three days, after that, if you are feeling better, you can go home. Give us three days to help you. Only three."

"W-what about school?" I look up at him with wide eyes, trying to get him to understand that I can't miss. I can't mess up any more than I already have. He needs to let me out of here.

"They'll be informed and I'm sure they'll have no problem with you making up the work."

I swallow hard, I was afraid of that. "Please don't tell them I'm here. I don't want them to know I'm-"

Dr. Figgins looks sympathetic but nods, "There is nothing wrong with asking for help, it's nothing to be ashamed of. But if you don't want us to tell them, then we won't. You have a right to your privacy and the school will respect that."

I take a deep breath and nod. I can feel some of the tension in my body going away. I know it's petty but I'd hate to have everyone at school thinking I'm crazy, and I can't even imagine how this would look on a college application.

I wait for a minute longer, still staring at Dr Figgins and waiting for him to let me out, but he holds firm and I drop my gaze. I nod one more time at the floor and he gives my shoulder one last squeeze before leaving.

Not even a second later a taller, curly haired man with a disgusting brown vest and a smile way too wide to be natural takes his place and holds out a hand. "I'm Will Schuster, but everyone here calls me Shue. I'm here to show you around."

His voice is bright and cheery and for a moment I'm too shocked to remember my former defeat. He keeps his hand up, not at all deterred by the fact it takes me a while to respond. I eventually shake his hand, and then it's back to business. He motions for me to grab my jacket and leads me out and down the hall towards two double doors that read Ward 402. These are the doors that will take me to my salvation. The doors that will lead me towards either the best, or worst decision of my life. I've never anticipated anything as much as I do right now. Clearly picking up on my hesitation, Shue stops and waits before continuing on.

Thankful for the moment of pause, I step away slightly and take a deep breath. This is what I asked for. These people will help me. The school won't be aware of why I'm gone and maybe by the time I get back my parents will have gotten used to the idea. There is nothing to be afraid of. These people are professionals and they deal with this every day.

My stomach is still flopping but my hands no longer shake as I give a small nod. Shue steps forward and swipes his work card, waits for a soft beep and the sound of the doors unlocking before pushing on the handle quickly and giving me my first look at Ward 402.

"Blaine Anderson, let me be the first to welcome you to William McKinley Hospital. I think you'll learn to be very happy here."


	2. Chapter 2

Author notes: Thank you to everyone who read the prologue. This chapter and the rest of the story will be written in third person, still from Blaine's pov, but not so much in his head. Also a quick thank you to my beta, Jolie (spirithamburger.) The second chapter should be up soon!

Chapter one

The double doors open up and Blaine steps into the ward, listening to Shue shutting and locking the door behind him while he looks around. There is carpet on the floor and the lighting, though the same bright florescent, is dimmer in here. The first room he sees is off to his left and it seems to be some sort of rec room; there is a bookshelf filled mostly with boardgames, only a few books still managing to find a place on the crowded shelves. There's an old looking tv in the corner, a big bulking thing that still has a VCR built in to the front of it, surrounded by a few couches that are clearly old donated pieces judging by the stains and tears. Finally, there's a table in the center, lopsided even with the book set underneath the far leg for balance and the few chairs that sit around it appear to be made of the most uncomfortable plastic known to man.

Blaine let's his gaze wander to the other side of the hall and notices a nurses station, pretty basic looking aside from the window holding a sign that reads "Line up here for pills." Blaine can see one nurse through the opening, a Hispanic woman, youthful, with her hair up in a tight bun. She holds a stern look, as she files her nails and doesn't even look up as they pass by.

Shue gives Blaine a paper schedule and walks him down the hall. On the front wall, before they reach the rooms, there is a white board with the same schedule Blaine holds in his hands printed upon it. It details when all three meals are, when the patients meet for group therapy and when they have solo sessions, when they line up for pills, what time they have free, and when they are expected to be in bed. It all seems simple enough.

The halls are quiet, empty, and a quick look at the wall clock alerts Blaine that there is still an hour until breakfast. The knowledge that everyone else must be sleeping only makes the silence that much more obvious and makes Shue's footsteps seem loud and intrusive especially when compared to Blaine's shuffling. They reach the end of the walkway and Blaine sees that there is a hall to his left and a hall to his right. Both are lined with doors, the names of the inhabitants written on a whiteboard out front. Most doors have two names on them, save for two, one halfway down the left hall and another at the very end of the right hall. Blaine waits for Shue to direct him one way or another but looks up after another minute of them standing still.

"Girls are down the right, boys on the left." Shue says. His voice is quiet but the jolly tone makes it seem much bigger. He speaks with a fullness that Blaine immediately envies. He sounds sure of himself, confident and exceedingly happy, all things Blaine has never been capable of.

Regardless, Blaine nods and starts heading down the left hall. Shue follows behind him, indicates which room is his but lets Blaine open the door for himself. The other name printed on the whiteboard reads "Flanagan, Rory" and he wonders briefly what his roommate will be like. Life back at Dalton, his school, has prepared him for sharing space but that still doesn't mean he's not a little anxious to meet someone new.

The sound of snoring is the first thing that reaches Blaine's ears and he's almost relieved to know that it will be just like Dalton in at least one respect. He's started to miss the sound of Jeff's snoring, can barely sleep without it. Shue gives a small clap behind him and Blaine jumps at the sudden noise, turning around but looking down, his face blushing in a reflex reaction to being skittish.

"I'll give you the hour to settle in. See you at breakfast." Shue says in the same voice Blaine's come to expect out of his mouth and nods before shutting the door and turning around.

Finding nothing else to do with Rory asleep, Blaine decides to give himself a small tour of the room and starts with a door in the corner. As he opens it, he realizes it's a bathroom, a small shower, toilet and sink all fitting closely together inside. There is no soap, no shampoo, no toothpaste and he wonders for a moment if they forgot to stock the bathroom for him when he sees another sign. "All toiletries are to be kept in the hall cabinet except when in use."

He's never heard of anyone trying to off themselves by eating soap, but just like how they took away his shoelaces earlier, it must be a safety precaution. Just before he leaves he realizes there is no mirror either. It's odd but for some reason he finds that to be a good thing, he can only imagine how he looks right now. He didn't have a chance to change before leaving so he's wearing a pair of ratty old jeans and a red polo. A swift run through his hair tells him that his curls are unruly and probably sticking up in every direction. He wishes he had the hindsight to put in some gel before he left. His converse are now lace-less and his jacket is just a loose gray hoodie. When he gets a chance he'll have to call his parents and ask for a change of clothes-he didn't think anyone would see him in this.

Outside of the bathroom there is a small closet, already filled with his roommates belongings, a lot of untouched looking jeans and button ups while the pajamas are thrown around messily, and past that he can see the two beds set up. The one closest to the door is filled with who he assumes is Rory, only a tuft of brown hair is peeking up over the blankets, so Blaine chooses to go sit on the bed next to the far wall. It's harder than he expects it to be and the blue blankets covering it feel thin and itchy under his fingers, and the pillow too flat to be very comfortable. The mattress seems to be covered in something plastic so every time he moves it makes a noise. There is a small dresser between the two beds with a digital clock on top, he sets his schedule down next to it and moves to take his shoes off before sitting back on the bed.

The last detail of the room, and by far Blaine's favorite, is a large window, nearly reaching from floor to ceiling on the other half of the wall that his bed is pushed up against. After a few minutes of sitting on the bed, Blaine realizes that he will be getting no sleep so he hops up and sits on the floor in front of the window instead. The view is just of the building next to them, a tall, brick structure with no windows to look in on and the window itself seems to be made of the same thick material they use for the lions exhibits at zoos, but it's still comforting for Blaine to know he has some sort of link to the outside world.

This isn't what he was expecting; the cold, harsh, uninviting atmosphere. It's not like he anticipated a party, or to become happy on the first step in but this seems a bit much, and for the second time that hour, he wishes he were back home or even at school.

Jeff would be waking up now, his alarm blasting the latest Katy Perry song until he eventually rolled out of bed, somehow already cheerful and singing along. He would shower quickly and then rush to meet Nick at breakfast. Blaine knows this because it used to be his routine as well. Of course he would shower second and then he would go down to breakfast to meet up with Sebastian, but the actions were all the same. Nick and Jeff were the best of friends and sometimes Blaine envied them. He couldn't really consider what he had with Sebastian to be friendship. In reality, it was more like Blaine worshipped him.

Not only was Sebastian the one student at Dalton to earn a full scholarship but he was incredibly bright, good-looking, hilarious, charming and (most importantly) confident in his sexuality. It wasn't as if other people didn't know that Blaine was gay (he wasn't in the closet or anything) but he certainly didn't hold himself with the same kind of pride that Sebastian did.

Blaine had first met Sebastian at a Speech and Debate competition back when Blaine was still at his old school. Blaine had worked so hard to get into that program, and once he was in he had to work even harder to stay afloat. Sebastian on the other hand, was Dalton's star player, and when they talked about it, Sebastian had mentioned that the school asked him to join.

It was the first time that Blaine had ever been jealous of Sebastian, but it wouldn't be the last. Sebastian's dad was a State Attorney, a household name and when Blaine had talked about Sebastian in passing to his parents, his own father immediately pressured him into becoming friends with the boy. Blaine had tried to keep up contact, talking with Sebastian online or at the various Speech and Debate functions but nothing really happened until Blaine transferred to Dalton.

Still shy and a little shaken up from his last encounter at his previous school, Sebastian took advantage of Blaine. He said they were friends but to Blaine all that seemed to mean was that he would have to follow Sebastian around, obey his simple orders of getting him lunch or buying him coffee when they went off campus, and hear Sebastian brag about every new boy he was sleeping with. Blaine knew that Sebastian was aware of his crush, of the jealousy and of the fact that he was really only his friend at the insistence of his father but it only seemed to make Sebastian more enthusiastic about their friendship. He knew he could control Blaine and that no matter how bad he treated him, he'd never stray. Blaine wondered briefly what Sebastian thought of him being gone, but decided it wasn't worth worrying about now, it would only make him feel sick again and there wasn't much he could do about it until he went back to school.

A soft bell chiming over the intercom in the room pulled Blaine from his thoughts and he looked over at the clock to see it was eight-time for breakfast. He stood up slowly and waited for his roommate to get up too. After a few minutes of no change in movement, not even a lack of snoring, Blaine started to get antsy. He didn't know if he should wake his roommate up himself or just leave him. He didn't want the kid to get in trouble but at the same time it probably wouldn't be too nice to wake up to a stranger leaning over your bed, and that was hardly the way he wanted their first meeting to go.

Blaine hears the doors to the other rooms opening and the shuffling footsteps of the other patients heading down to breakfast. He waits until the hall is quiet again before deciding he should wake Rory up. He's about a foot away from him when their door opens and the stern-faced Hispanic nurse pushes her way in.

She seems even younger in person, her face round though the rest of her body is incredibly thin. She wears bright red scrubs that seem to hug her body just a little too tightly and has a name tag that reads "Santana" to the left of her chest. Blaine can already tell that she is a nurse that doesn't take any kind of sass or misdirection, even just standing there she holds an air of authority that demands respect. She seems tough but not unkind, just a girl that is not easily swayed. Blaine can't decide if he's comforted by her presence or intimidated, it seems to be a bit of both.

"Leave him. He never gets out of that bed." Her tone is clear and direct, her voice smooth but commanding, Blaine doesn't think he could disobey her order even if he wanted to.

"But...breakfast?" The lack of confidence in his voice almost makes him wince and he cowers further away from Rory's bed.

"He's a special case. I haven't seen him up and out of that bed since the day he first walked in here. We're working on it though, he just needs a little more time." She gives a small smile to the Rory shaped lump under the covers and gets a look in her eyes that almost seems like fondness before she turns back to Blaine.

"I think I saw you come in. Blaine Anderson, right? I'm Nurse Lopez, but most everyone here calls me Santana, or Auntie Tana." She holds out a hand and Blaine can see that the fingernails she was filing before are now colored in a deep red, almost matching the color tone of lipstick she's got on. He takes her hand carefully and shakes it before Santana grips it tighter, pulling him in just a little bit. "Don't be fooled by the pleasant nicknames, Anderson, if you get any ideas in your head to cause trouble or misbehave in my ward, I am not afraid to go Nurse Ratched on you. I'm from Lima Heights Adjacent, that's the bad side of the tracks and there isn't a single one of you that I can't take down. You got that?"

Blaine can practically hear the pounding of his heart in his ears as he tries to swallow but finds his throat to be tense and tight with worry. His eyes must be bulging out of his head at this point and he can feel his hand starting to ache so he settles for nodding instead. The action is short and stunted but seems to satisfy Santana, because her grip on his hand loosens and she smiles again, flipping her hair idly before releasing Blaine all together. "Good, now lets get you on down to breakfast. The superiors hate when people are behind schedule."

In order to get to the cafeteria they have to leave the Ward again and Santana explains how normally everyone would line up by the door when it was time for meals and a nurse would escort them down with a few security guards. Shue had taken over that task for the day though so Santana could give Blaine a personal tour.

The stairwell down to the cafeteria is quiet and their footsteps echo loudly off the walls, almost making it hard to hear Santana's voice as she explains the rules of the Ward. They are expected to follow instructions and adhere to the schedule, if they don't show up for an activity, it'll only keep them in this place for longer. If they showed up late or behaved in an inappropriate manner, they would get "points" taken away. On that same thought, they could get points given to them if they behaved well or arrived on time for every activity that day. Blaine wasn't really sure what the points lead up to, or why he should want to collect them but Santana didn't seem to either. She just told him he didn't want to get negative points, because that was definitely bad.

By the time she was finished, they had arrived at the cafeteria. It was big and basic for a hospital, the one outstanding difference being that it was empty save for the members of the Ward and the security guards watching over them. The patients seemed to have split themselves into two tables, one for boys and one for girls, which was good if only because it meant that Blaine didn't have to struggle to find someone to sit with.

He was lead to the buffet style counter first and told to grab some food, the more food he ate, the sooner he'd be able to leave. At least that was what Santana said. Unfortunately, the section wasn't the most appetizing looking stuff. There was a tub of eggs that looked like they had tried to be scrambled at one point but then melted into a large, watery mess, bagels that were cold and hard as a rock, some kind of ham sandwich that smelled oddly of feet (which Blaine hoped was because of some cheese hiding within it's folds instead of being the result of age) and a basket in the corner which held toaster waffles.

Feeling like there was no real way you could mess up an Eggo waffle, Blaine grabbed one of those and a carton of milk before moving to face the tables. Santana gave his plate a bit of a reproachful look but said nothing, choosing instead to walk with him over to where everyone else was seated.

"Listen up, Misfits." She announced when she was close enough, gaining nearly everyone's attention. "We've got a new inmate. Little Blaine Anderson, here, and I expect you all to treat him with kindness and respect. Got it?"

Most everyone was smiling, not at all seeming intimidated by Santana's commanding tone but they nodded. It still took a small push to Blaine's back from Santana to get him to sit down but eventually he walked over and placed himself in front of a tall, awkward looking teen and another boy who wore a devilish smirk and a mohawk.

After a moment of silence where Blaine mostly picked at his food, Santana walked over and flicked the back of the taller kid's head. "Finn, introduce yourself."

The boy, Finn, blushed and rubbed his head but turned to Blaine with a bit of a sheepish smile and waved. "I'm Finn, this is Puck."

Puck, the teen with the mohawk, smiled as well, though his smile seemed a bit more devious than sheepish and he leaned forward in his seat. "So...what'd you do to get in here?"

"Puck." Finn stated reproachfully before Blaine could begin on his answer, something he was secretly thankful for. He's not sure he would have answered even if Finn hadn't come to his rescue.

"Hey, I didn't mean anything by it. Its just always the small guys you gotta look out for." Puck defended himself, sounding very sure of his logic. "I'm just trying to keep safe."

Finn rolled his eyes and shot Blaine a small smile, which surprisingly, Blaine found himself returning. "I think you'll be safe, man."

Blaine picked his head up a little more and opened his milk carton as Puck huffed and puffed from his place next to Finn. It was only after Blaine was halfway through his drink that Finn spoke again.

"So, you meet anyone else yet?"

Blaine shook his head, putting the carton down and wiping his mouth on a napkin before speaking. "Just Shue...and Rory, but not formally, he's just my roommate."

"They roomed you with Lucky Charms?" Puck interrupted, eyes alight with amusement. "Tough break. That guy is freaky."

Once again Finn came to his rescue, shooting Puck a dirty glance, "Where else were they gonna put him, down the other end of the hall with the girls?"

"It didn't stop them before."

Blaine was about to ask what Puck meant by that when Finn looked back at him, rolling his eyes a second time. "Ignore him. He likes to think he knows everything about this place but, he really doesn't."

"And...you do?" Blaine asked, going more for flattery than criticism. Finn seemed like the kind of person he wanted to make friends with.

The plan seemed to work because Finn was sitting up a little straighter, puffing out his chest. "Obviously."

"Go on then."

Finn shot a quick glance to the clock before turning back to Blaine. "We don't have much time so I'll just give you names for now...starting with that kid over there, that's Sam."

Blaine turned and looked at the blond haired person Finn was pointing at. He was cute, had a bit of a dazed expression and an impressive looking mouth, but he had kind features and in any other situation, Blaine could have seen himself with a crush.

The kid next to Sam was Artie. He had brown hair and a pale face and a pair of glasses that were placed over his half lidded eyes, with bulky casts on both his legs. He was drooling slightly down his chin, and on further inspection seemed to be sitting in a wheelchair. Blaine tried not to stare for too long before turning back to Finn.

The girls table was next, starting with Quinn, a small girl with blonde hair and down turned lips. Her eyes seemed hard, and cold, like they'd had the life taken right out of them. She just sat and stared at the table while next to her, Brittany, another blonde haired girl, built a small house out of waffles. Unlike Quinn, Brittany wore a happy grin, her mouth pulled open wide and her gaze unfocused. She too seemed dazed, definitely more so than Sam but not as much as Artie. She seemed happy, but out of it, though Blaine imagined that she wouldn't be quite as happy if she wasn't.

On the other side of Brittany was Tina, an Asian girl who wore more make-up then all the other girls put together. She kept her gaze down and folded a napkin again and again in her lap. There were bandages on her wrists, covered haphazardly with sweatbands and bracelets. Blaine didn't linger long on her either before moving to the girl Finn described as Mercedes. A black girl who was throwing her hands around and talking animatedly with the person next to her. A person who Blaine was shocked to find out, was male.

"Wait a second...who's that?" Blaine asked, his voice wavering slightly in surprise. They seemed to have a system here. Boys on one side, girls on the other, who was this guy to throw it off?

"That's Kurt." Finn said, keeping his voice a little hushed as if Kurt's existence there at all was to be kept secret. "He's been here since before I came. Never talks during group, keeps just as quiet in solo therapy. He never misbehaves or anything, but they refuse to let him leave until he opens up."

Without looking away from Kurt's form, Blaine gave a vague nod. He wasn't sure what it was about the boy that captivated him. At first he thought it was the hair, perfectly styled and coiffed (he wondered if maybe Kurt would let him borrow some gel) but after further inspection, all hair related queries went straight out of Blaine's mind.

Kurt was _gorgeous_.

Granted, Blaine only had a profile view of him, but what he saw was enough to leave him breathless. An adorable pointed nose and plump lips leading down to a remarkable jaw line and long neck. A neck that he was practically teasing Blaine with by putting it on display. With every nod and tilt of his head in response to Mercedes words, his neck became more exposed and more prominent through the baggy neckline of his shirt.

Eventually it was Finn speaking again that took Blaine out of his trance. "Dude...he doesn't really like it when people stare."

"What do you-" Before Blaine's sentence was even fully formed, Kurt turned, showing of the rest of his face and more specifically, three perfectly lined scars down his cheek.

Blaine didn't get a good look at them before he quickly turned his gaze back to the table but they still burned in his minds eye. The scars were an obvious bright pink against the pale tone of Kurt's skin. They were thin, exact, as if done by a knife, and looked long since healed even if they shined as brightly as a fresh wound. He could barely think about someone doing that to Kurt and when he did it hurt his heart in a way he didn't expect. It made him feel odd and a little dirty to feel such an intense reaction for someone he had never even met.

"Why does he sit with the girls?" Blaine asked, finally looking back up at Finn and Puck who seemed to need a second to remember who Blaine was even referring to.

"Oh...well, he asked to. He sleeps down that hall too, in a single room but on the ladies side. It's always been that way. We think..." Finn leans forward, Blaine following suit to hear the whisper. "...we think it's because he's gay."

Blaine's eyes widen, a weird sense of relief washing through him at that news before he has time to feel confused at the sheer idiocy of what they suggested. "Wait, what...that doesn't make sense. I'm gay too."

Puck seems to react to this more than Finn does, giving a large snort into his hand. "You gonna go join the ladies and talk about hair and make-up too?"

Both Finn and Blaine glare at Puck this time but surprisingly Blaine is the one that speaks up. "My orientation has nothing to do with what I enjoy. I'll have you know that I watch every Ohio State game, I know how to build a car, I put together model planes and I like Michael Bay action flicks. I'll stay here, thanks."

It's Finn's turn to laugh this time as Puck's gaze turns sullen and he pushes away his plate, muttering nonsense under his breath.

"You really like Ohio State? Shue lets us catch the recaps sometimes, I missed last weeks though."

Blaine smiles and nods at Finn's question. "Yeah, I saw it. I could tell you the highlights if you want."

"That would be awesome!" Finn punctuates each word with an exclamation, not even trying to hide his excitement.

There was something nice about having the attention of the table, it seemed like with that one small point of interest he had won over all the boys and he felt like he'd accomplished something, it was like he was finally sitting at the cool table and not only that, but he actually belonged there.

Halfway through describing Ohio's second touchdown Blaine chanced a glance back in Kurt's direction and was surprised to see him looking back, a curious twinkle in his piercing blue eyes. The moment only lasted a few seconds before each boy looked away but to Blaine it seemed much longer.

Thankfully Finn was busy reacting to the last thing Blaine said so he had time to calm himself down and school his expression into something that resembled normal. Still, he couldn't shake the unexpected feelings Kurt's eyes in his brought. The tingles up his spine, his heart skipping a beat and the warm feeling in his stomach that he'd only ever felt before when he was incredibly happy.

For the first time since Blaine arrived at the hospital, he felt that this was exactly where he was meant to be.


End file.
